


No Chaconne (2)

by esteven



Series: Chaconne [2]
Category: Master and Commander - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-30
Updated: 2011-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteven/pseuds/esteven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aunt and Uncle Fisher have their hopes dashed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Chaconne (2)

A fire burned in the fireplace of the breakfast room.

The lady at the table broke her toast into small pieces, dabbed some butter on them and ate them. She looked at the snow-covered park outside, then at her plate. She took another morsel of toast, spread jam on it, and put it in her mouth.

Her husband watched her over the rim of his coffee cup. There must surely be something serious on her mind. He was used to his whirlwind of a wife being bright and cheerful – most uncommon cheerful – even early in the morning. He was deeply attached to her; still, he was not really worried. She would tell him whenever she was ready.

‘I have been thinking of that charming concert several weeks ago. How dear John was so absorbed in the music, and Mr Bach so kind as to talk to him at such length. To a seven-year-old boy! I was amazed, Fisher, so amazed.’ She gestured for her cup to be filled again.

Mr Fisher was about to go through the mail that had just been brought in, but at this he looked up and nodded. ‘Indeed, Mr Bach was very taken with John’s eagerness and even spoke to him about having met that young Austrian composer, Mozart, years ago. He told me so himself the next day before he had to leave for London, him being so busy in the city, what with the concerts at the assembly hall.’

‘You advised with him about a violin for the boy, did you not?’

‘So I did, and he was so kind as to take my order for a violin up to London to a shop he had recommended. Do you not remember how the instrument arrived just in time, before John and Miss Thrale had to leave?’ Mr Fisher spoke with animation, something his wife was not exactly used to from her usually staid and quiet husband – very staid and very quiet, especially in the mornings, being not generally given to great conversation at the breakfast table. She knew he had enjoyed the time with his nephew more than he was likely to admit. She laid a hand on his arm and smiled.

‘Oh, I vividly remember John’s face when he opened the case, how he took it out at once and astonished me by holding the fiddle and bow just right, and how enthusiastically he thanked you. He would surely have embraced you, had not some of our guests been present. His eyes were so bright, and his lips trembled just a tad; the boy was quite overcome, I feel.’

‘You think so? Yes, you must be right, come to think of it.’ Mr Fisher paused for a moment, sipped at his now-cold coffee. ‘I never thought his visit would be so agreeable. He is a bright boy, eager to please and good-natured. He cannot have a single mean bone in his body.’

He asked Williams for another pot of coffee, and then continued, ‘You know, when John stood there sometimes, cocking his head to one side with that look of concentration on his face, he reminded me much of my dear sister. That was exactly how she looked when she was puzzling over a difficult passage in a book. And when we were out, it was such a pleasure to hear him chatter about the land and the fields. I quite felt as if my own flesh and blood was riding next to me. I quite miss the boy.’

Mr Fisher heard a small intake of breath and looked up guiltily. He reached for his wife and took one of her hands between his. ‘Dearest Amelia, please forgive me. I am surely brought by the lee. I never meant it as a fling against you. Please, do not be so low.’ He raised her hand to his lips and slowly kissed each knuckle before he released it.

She gave him a sweet – if slightly tremulous – smile and reached for the last piece of cold toast on her plate, though only to toy with it. She breathed deeply as if she had come to a decision.

‘I noticed that you and John agreed very well together. He is a cheerful boy, but is much left on his own at Woolcombe. Though Miss Thrale is much attached to him and surely does all she can to give John at least some education, we must not forget that she is only fourteen. Far be it from me to criticise General Aubrey, but I do not feel he attaches a great deal of importance to his son’s knowledge. John would benefit from a more stable home, so…’ here she drew another deep breath, ‘…could you not write to the General and ask whether John might live with us for a longer period of time?’ There, it was out. ‘You know, my dear Fisher, I quite miss John too.’ She patted his arm.

‘That is truly your opinion, dearest? You are not saying it just to please me?’ Mr Fisher was animated, but then he recollected himself and looked gravely at his wife. ‘Your idea has merits, and I will give it further thought. A letter of such import cannot be dashed away in a few moments. It will not do to alienate General Aubrey, lest we never see the boy again, just when we have struck up such a good relationship.’

She nodded, satisfied that she had got her proposal across, and now attacked a fresh piece of toast. Fortunately she was not a woman who had to look after her figure, and could butter her toast with impunity.

Her husband turned his attention to the mail, the top piece of which was a large envelope, tied with string. ‘It is from Burney, and I wonder what he could be sending that is so large? Only a couple of weeks ago I sent him a letter in which I told him all about John and Miss Thrale’s visit, our new _piano forte_ straight from Mr Zumpe’s shop, Mr Bach’s wonderful concert and those charming pieces he had written for us. You recall that I had commissioned them in the galant style.’

‘You have not mentioned it above a dozen times, my dear Fisher.’

Mr Fisher shared his wife’s amusement, reached for a knife and opened the little parcel. There were two folders with sheet music and a note. ‘Ah, Charles is delighted to hear we are so taken with the new instrument. He mentions that it is quite the fashion in London and has enclosed two pieces he himself had composed for piano forte. Well I ever! _Two Sonatas for pianoforte, violin and violoncello_. John and I could make an attempt at these sonatas. And would you believe it, he knows Miss Thrale and her parents. Writes that Johnson called her _Queenie_. John also called her that, did he not?’

Mrs Fisher inclined her head. Again, she noticed how animated – nay, positively cheerful – her husband was, and it pleased her to see him so.

Mr Fisher continued through the mail. ‘We have only just talked of him, and here is a letter!’

‘Yes, dear?’ Mrs Fisher inquired.

‘Sorry, my heart. I mean, here is a letter from John.”

‘Oh, how lovely of him to think of us. Pray, open it at once and tell me how he is doing.’

Mr Fisher slid a finger under the seal and started to read. He looked graver and sadder the more he continued, and Mrs Fisher patted his arm impatiently. ‘Is anything wrong with the boy? Fisher!’

Her husband looked up. ‘Dearest Amelia, I feel we will not be seeing a lot of him over the next few years, if ever again. He wrote this note in Portsmouth.’ He held up a hand. ‘Do not interrupt, I beg. As I said, this note is from Portsmouth, written the day before he went aboard _a ship_ under a Captain Willis – a friend of General Aubrey – who has taken my nephew on as youngster in his new ship bound for the West Indies. It was supposed to happen next year, but they were ready earlier than expected. John asks to be remembered to you and sends his most affectionate greetings.”

A knife clattered on a plate, a chair was pushed back, and Mr Fisher watched his wife rush from the room, unable to withhold a little sob that pulled at his heart. He scrutinized the paper again, saw where the ink was smudged, where some words were blurred, and put the note carefully down on the table. He shook his head and felt a curious constriction in his throat. His appetite had suddenly left him, and he could finish only his cup.

He left for the library, where everyday business awaited him.


End file.
